Victorian Prime
by Generation Extant
Summary: Dr. Russell Garamond heads off with the Doctor and two lovely companions for 19th Century England... and almost get run over by a Lamborghini. (This story was originally published from July 17-19, 2006 at Generation Extant dot com.)


(This story was originally published from July 17-19, 2006.)

With an odd whooshing sound and the sense of being in an elevator that moves sideways, the TARDIS was off. Russell Garamond looked at this strange little portly man with admiration and questions, but mostly questions.  
"Doctor…" he started, wondering if he was heard above the countless clanking levers and switches the Doctor was currently operating. "Doctor?"  
"Yes yes, m'boy, go ahead I can hear you," The Doctor responded from the other side of the console, nearly entirely obscured by the oscillating structure, "I haven't got this far in this box without being able to multitask." He then popped his head around the column and shot a questioning look at Russell. "Multitasking, Is that your time? Did you folks make that one up?"  
Russell nodded.  
"Ah! Right, right, I do so hate to be anachronistic, don't you? I mean it's downright embarassing, what with time being my business it'd be like me being a butcher and not being able to carve up a–"  
"Doctor?!" Russell interjected, something he feared he was going to do very much in the near future.  
"Hm?" The Doctor looked surprised that someone felt the need to halt his rambling, "oh, right! Yes! Carry on with…well…whatever it is you were going to say. We haven't gotten to it yet, have we?" He smiled and began to chew on a licorice scottie from his vest pocket.  
"Doctor, I had a question about the TARDIS." Russell began, "Well…about all of it, really."  
"You want to know why it's bigger on the inside?" The Doctor asked around a mouthful of licorice.  
"Well, yes, that…and what you said about the stream and the bank. Are we…on the bank now?"  
"Well I should hope not, m'boy!" The Doctor hopped to another part of the circular console and flipped another switch, "the bank would be the void, and we certainly don't want to be out there! Dreadful place, really, so much…nothing! Well, there are a few things…" The Doctor suddenly looked far off and upset, but quickly regained his composure. "Anyway, Mr. Garamond, to continue with my previous metaphorical jaunt, let us simply say that we are a droplet splashed out of one point of a stream and into another."  
"So why did you mention the bank earlier?" Russell asked, scratching his head.  
The Doctor switched a switch, flicked a knob, and spun a dial. The TARDIS suddenly began to slow down, as if easing to an idle. The Doctor sidled up to Russell, chewing on his licorice thoughfully.  
"I mentioned it because it was a pretty metaphor. When you asked again, I decided to change the metaphor. Let this be a lesson to you, Mr. Garamond, that you should always listen to the last thing I say. When the last thing I say suddenly becomes the first, discount it and believe the new last, until the new last is usurped by the new new last and the first thing is but a fleeting memory."  
He threw a comradely arm around Russell. "When you're working with time, things can tend to get jumbled up. Yesterday becomes tomorrow, next year becomes the distant past, and the end of the world can follow Johannes Gutenberg. What is important, my new acquaintance, is that you pay attention to the here and now. Know what is happening now, at this very moment, and know that it all can change in the next. THAT'S the beauty of time travel, and that's the way it is inside the TARDIS." he produced a small paper bag from his vest and wagged it in Russell's face. "Scottie?"  
Russell took a red candy and chewed it thoughtfully, as the Doctor moved to make the final calculations on the TARDIS console. Russell had little time to digest his scottie or the new knowledge imparted to him as the Doctor's voice rang out again, diembodied and obscured by the TARDIS column.  
"Oh, and Russell m'boy," A hand appeared from the right side of the console, as the left was still busy working switches. "Before we arrive you should find yourself some new clothes." The hand turned accusatory towards him, wagging finger and all, "we can't have you dressed like that in Victorian London, now can we?" The hand then went into a rapid explanation of the directions that followed, all accompanied by the Doctor's voice. "Head to the wardrobes. First left, second right, third on the left, go straight ahead, under the stairs, past the bins, fifth door on your left."  
Russell may have very well stood dumbfounded for hours, trying to remember the directions, had not the young Colleen entered the console room. Her quaint Irish brouge stood in stark contrast to the high-tech console room, and was a welcome reprieve.  
"C'mon, you. I'll guide ye where ye need t' go. Took me hours t' find et th' first time." She took his hand and lead him down corridor after corridor, through a structure that was unbelievably massive…and yet all contained in the shape of a police call box. Had it not been for the surprising grip of this woman and her flowing mane of red hair in front of him Russell would have been lost long ago.  
"You know, it's funny," Russell tried to make conversation, "the people I used to work with used to say I could maneuver through a chest cavity with no problem, but going down the street for a coffee was beyond me."  
Colleen looked back and smiled at him. "We're here, Mr. Garamond, sir."  
Russell examined the door, which for all intents and purposes looked to be made of thick cherry wood with a burnished brass plate stating "WARDROBE."  
"Incredible," Russell mused at the door, then turned to Colleen. "And I am not sir, Colleen. Russell will do."  
Colleen's look of embarassment was truncated by a crass, but good natured voice from beyond the wardrobe door. "Don't trouble yourself, mack, she does it to everyone!"  
Colleen, now thoroughly embarassed, made her exit back down the corridor. Russell, confused and a little upset, entered the wardrobe.  
"Now I don't think that was very nice of you to say, Miss–!"  
Russell's sentence was cut short because the woman facing away from him was just in the process of removing her blouse. Russell, now the embarassed one, shielded his eyes in a vain attempt to save face.  
"Javis," the lady said, pulling on her blouse and fitting the rest of her outfit, a minimal Victorian riding gown, together. She continued chatting as she adjusted her corset.  
"My name's Javis Nine," she said, turning around. Seeing Russell cowering in the corner, she let out a brash howl of laughter. "Oh, I see my reputation precedes me! Don't worry, stringbean, I won't be hitting you for sneaking a peek or two." She walked over and removed Russell's hand from his face.  
"Coincidentally, was it any good?" she asked with a mischevious grin.  
Russell, now thoroughly embarassed, made his way to the door. Javis put a strong arm against the door and ceased all further ingress and egress.  
"Sheesh, you must be an Old Human," Javis said, rolling her eyes. "Don't worry about it, skinny. Besides, you're here for an outfit, so let's get you into one!" She shooed him down a rack of clothing labeled in a language Russell didn't understand, as he turned around, Javis gave him a coy wink.  
"Don't worry, I won't peek. I promise. Try this on."  
Seeing his only exit blocked, Russell felt no choice but to obey the strong, dark-haired woman. He changed into the outfit of a true Victorian dandy and, with Javis' approval, exited the wardrobe and made his way back to the console room, also with Javis' guidance.  
Colleen was already near the console, still looking a bit embarassed, but the Doctor was too busy landing the TARDIS in the desired destination. Dials spun, wheels whirred, and the now familiar materialization sound echoed through the console room. The Doctor's appearance had not changed at all, but the other three TARDIS occupants looked like they would fit right in for London 1888.  
As far as they knew.  
With great pomp, the Doctor marched over to the door of the TARDIS, which still resembled the interior of a call box. With a great flourish, he beckoned his companions forward, and prepared to make an announcement.  
"Ladies and gentle…man," he began, "we are about to enter Victorian England. A land of fantastic etiquette, societal norm, function, and pattern. Also, a land of depravity, corruption, and greed. Keep in mind that nothing may be as it seems, and that the whorehouses may contain more honorable minds that Parliament," he grinned maniacally, "I can't wait, let's go!"  
With one strong movement, he pulled the door open and strode boldly out into the street, almost to be ran down by a zooming automobile.  
Russell exited second, followed by Colleen and then Javis. As Javis locked the door, Colleen looked on in fright, yelping.  
"Doctor! What was that?"  
"My dear Colleen," the Doctor continued, "that was a Ferrari 550 Maranello, one of the most opulant and luxurious sports cars of the late 20th century. And, my friends, I think it is safe to say…" he pulled his Windsor cap down about his ears, "that something… is not right."

"So…" Russell grinned, "nothing may be as it seems, eh? Well, to me it seems like we've only traveled a couple of blocks."  
"Indeed, Mr. Garamond," The Doctor mused, obsessively twirling his moustache, "this looks nearly identital to the London of the late twentieth century…perhaps a bit of the twenty-first…yes, a bit of the twenty first…very interesting…"  
Suddenly, without explanation, the Doctor whirled around, cut through his companions, and made towards the TARDIS. However, he had not noticed that Javis had previous locked it and ran face first into an unyielding door with an unpleasant thud.  
Even this new, modern London seemed to grind to a halt as silence reigned, all eyes of the companions focused on the Doctor, who was still standing, stock-still, his face in the door of the TARDIS. Finally, the Doctor took a step back, made a quick about-face turn, and gave his nose a precautionary sniff. Satisfied that there was no damage, he turned to Javis.  
"Miss Nine," he started, voice slightly cracking, "I appreciate your…dilligence in the safety and security of our means of transportation…but could you please wait a full five seconds next time before applying the lock?"  
Javis, choking and snorting back a fit of giggles, nodded. The Doctor, quickly trying to mend his shattered pride, began feverishly rifling through his many vest pockets. The increasingly vain attempt at key retrieval made the Doctor increasingly frustrated, and resulted in his face rapidly turning a stunning shade of vermillion. Javis, finally no longer able to restrain herself, simply retrieved her key from her corset and swiftly unlocked the door. The Doctor responded by rounding on Javis, offering a curt nod, and blustering into the TARDIS interior.  
Once the Doctor was safely out of earshot, Javis erupted in a booming chorus of raucous laughter, quite out of place for her Victorian attire. Russell soon joined with the merriment, and even Colleen found it hard to repress a smile. Her laughter thoroughly exhausted, Javis wiped a merry tear from her eye and sighed.  
"Oh! He's just like an Old Human sometimes, our Doctor…" she exhaled.  
Russell, still chuckling, posed a curious question. "What's with all of this 'Old Human' business anyway, Javis?"  
Javis looked at Russell as if he had asked what water was. "Oh, right! Sorry. Well, you see, I'm a New Human. From New Earth. The Doctor, you see, actually sort of created us in the year five billion and twenty-three. Am I…making sense?"  
"As much as anything else in the past two days has," Russell grinned, scratching his head, "but you know, for being a 'New Human,' you look positively…"  
"Italian?" Javis beamed, trying her best to exhibit her olive skin and dark, curly hair, "yeah, I get that all the time. Some say my ancestors were Italian, back on Old Earth, y'know…but nothing's certain," she shrugged. "We are what we are, I guess. You'll get used to it."  
Though his head was swimming, Russell managed a smile. "I have a feeling I'll have to, or feel my brain turn to mush!"  
"That's the spirit, beanpole," Javis said with a wink. Suddenly rustle and bustle could be heard making its way back towards the TARDIS door. The Doctor exited once more, taking great care to securely shut the door and give a mock-serious glare at Javis, who proceeded to pull a face at the Doctor and lock the door right in front of him. Rather than become angry, the Doctor grinned in his typical maniacal way, winked at his companions, and progressed down the sidewalk the TARDIS had landed on at his typical brisk pace.  
"Well, Doctor?" Russell asked, marveling again at how the strange man's short legs could move faster than his lanky ones.  
"Something is not right, Mr. Garamond, something is not right at all," the Doctor proclaimed, waving his arms expressively as he walked. "The TARDIS tells me it's 1888, but this seems more like 1999, and one hundred and eleven years just don't pass the TARDIS by, thank you very much." The Doctor stopped one block down at another intersection, and paused to gain his bearings.  
"So, what do we do, Doctor?" Colleen asked timidly, as her and Javis caught up with the fast-walking duo.  
"Well…" The Doctor paused, twirling his moustache and pulling his Van Dyke, "I could fancy a drink. Anyone care for a trip to the pub?"  
"Are you kidding?!" Russel exclaimed.  
"No no no, Mr. Garamond. I'll smile if I kidding," The Doctor grinned.  
"But you're smiling now!"  
"Then I'll frown when I'm kidding," the Doctor retorted, still smiling, "all I know is that a pub is a great place to hear gossip, the pulse of society if you will, and if something is not right, you will no doubt hear of it there, where spirits often loosen the most deadlocked tongues."  
He raised his thick eyebrows coyly.  
"Plus, I'm dreadfully parched and could use a drink. Anyone else?"  
He was greeted with good natured smiles and similarly dry tongues.  
"Splendid, splendid!" The Doctor bounced up on the balls of his feet, "now, if this is a twentieth century London in the nineteenth century, an old, new London, a modern Victorian, an accelerated urban state, a–"  
"We get it, Doctor," Javis chuckled, rolling her eyes, "so where would the pub be in 1999?"  
The Doctor bounced on the balls of his feet again, smiling and sucking on his unlit pipe. "Right behind you."  
Lo and behold, Culshaw's Pub loomed directly behind their turned backs. Russell, seeing the Doctor's smirk, called him on it.  
"You looked behind us, didn't you Doctor?"  
"Oh, no no no. Never, m'boy, never!" The Doctor continued to grin as he tapped his pipe to his temple, "superior Gallifreyan intellect, you know…"  
"Superior what intellect?" Russell asked for clarification.  
The Doctor was finally caught off guard. "Er, nothing. Nothing, m'boy. A story for another day. For now, let's get those drinks."  
Had Russell even wanted to pry further it would have been futile, as the Doctor had already made an about-face into the pub. The companions followed inside, not sure what to expect.  
The pub itself was a very rustic affair, adorned with copious amounts of dark wood paneling and the fragrant smell of tobacco smoke. In contrast, low hanging electric lights shed enough light to make navigation possible, but not enough to completely light the area. It was apparent the structure was centrally heated via ducts, but an old iron stove stood in the corner, falsely lit by a red lightbulb. The pub appeared to be an attempt to please both the old London and the new, as barmaids bustled about in vaguely Victorian garments, serving patrons in modern looking jumpers and jeans. All in all, it was a wholly confusing affair.  
The Doctor and his companions found a comfortable booth in the middle of the bustle and hubbub typical of a tavern, and a barmaid was quickly taking their orders.  
"Oi there, missie," she smiled, pointing at Javis, "that's a real vintage frock y' got on there. Fancy a job?"  
Javis merely smiled and politely declined.  
"An' you, sir, can I get y' any smoke for y' pipe?" she asked the Doctor.  
"Oh, no no no, m'gel," the Doctor chuckled, "that stuff'll kill you! I just like to have it out to make me look intelligent, brainy, smart, if you will. Does it work?" He placed the pipe in his mouth and struck a scholarly pose. The waitress, eager for a nice tip, replied in the affirmative.  
Just as soon as everyone had ordered drinks and a bite to eat, a raucous clamour erupted by one of the darkest corners of the pub, near the faux-Franklin stove. An older man, now into his sixties, was barking out two much younger men who had approached him.  
"Git awa' from meh, ye damn blaggards! Ah don' wannae hear none o' yer talk of mobiles an' telly an' this enormous bloody spiderweb!"  
The Doctor leaned into the center of the table, beckoning his companions to do the same. "I believe we may have found a loose enough tongue," he remarked with a wink. Turning to the barmaid, who seemed far too used to such an outburst from such a man, the Doctor requested a favor.  
"Miss, could you do me the service of sending a pint to that man in the corner, with my compliments? Something good, something…old."  
It appeared as if nothing phased this barmaid, as she did as she was told. The man in the shadows received the pint with a mixture of surprise and relish, his shining eyes the only part of him visible from where the group sat. As the Doctor and his companions were finishing their meal and drinks, the Doctor felt a strong, calloused hand on his shoulder.  
"Ah'd like tae thank ye fer tha' great tasty pint," the strong hand lead up to a man who had seen many years, but whose eyes had not been clouded by them. His well trimmed beared complimented his very Victorian workman's clothing, whereas the other men in the bar sported clean faces and modern attire.  
The man continued shaking the Doctor warmly by the hand, "Archibald Crane, professional auld crank," he added with a smile.  
"You can call me the Doctor, and this is Russell Garamond, Colleen Criadha and Javis Nine, my friends and traveling companions," he finished his pint and invited Archibald to squeeze into the booth. As the man's slender, but still athletic body sat down, he regarded the electric light with disdain. The Doctor, noticing this, produced his Sonic Screwdriver and successfully dulled the lamp to the level of a common oil lamp, then turned to his new acquaintance.  
"Mr. Crane, You seem to be an adversary of technology," the Doctor said, swiftly stowing his screwdriver whilst Archibald's eyes were still covered with his hand, adjusting to the light, "could you tell me why that is?"  
"Fer anuther o' one o' them pints, I'll tell ye ennuthin" Archibald chuckled.  
"Well, ol' Archie m'boy, your wish is my command," the Doctor grinned as he beckoned the barmaid to return. She left to refill Archibald's order and the Doctor continued.  
"I take it, from your vehement denial of this new technology, that this is more than just an old man refusing to change with the times."  
"Aye," Archibald replied as his second pint appeared, "Ah was born in 1827. Round th' time ah turn'd fifteen ever'thin started tae change. We went from coal tae oil tae gas tae nuclear to solar power heatin' our homes by th' taime ah was fifty. Our carriages gave way tae motorcoaches and cars and trucks and suhvs in the same taime…"  
"Suhvs?" Russell queried.  
"Aye," Archibald replied, "suhvs, ess-you-vees, right? Ennuhway, it all seemed too fast fer meh, like it was movin' too queck too soon, an' ah refused tae have ennuh part in et!"  
The Doctor finished one of Colleen's uneaten chips, remarking on the flavor. "Hm, soybean oil, fascinating…" he turned back to Archibald, "yes, Mr. Crane, I would say that your assumptions are correct and there is definitely something out of line here, something moving…far too fast. So you say this happened when you were fifteen, in 1842. Anything happen during that time that could explain it?"  
"Aye, Doctor, but ye cannae talk about it. Talkin' abou' it'll surely get ye aressted… or worse, reported to VP."  
"VP?" The Doctor cocked an inquisitive eyebrow.  
"Vice President?" Russell asked, confounded.  
"Nay, Mister Garamond, tae Victorian Prime. They run the show and, if ye ask me…" he leaned in closer to whisper confidentially, "they're th' ones runnin' this whole bloody show!"  
The Doctor withdrew from the conference and helped himself to another one of Colleen's chips. "Well, if all we have to do is go talk about it and we'll be reported, I suppose we'll just have to go talk about it!" He turned to Archibald and rummaged through a vest pocket, producing a substantial amount of notes. "Here, use this to pay our bill, buy you another pint, and build you a house bereft of incandescence, internal combustion, or electric impulses of any kind, save the ones in that fantastic noggin of yours."  
The Doctor rose and his companions did likewise. "Thank you, Archibald Crane, for you were exactly the man I wanted to talk to. Now, if you'll do me just one more favor…"  
"Ennuthin, Doctor, seein' as how you're soon tae be a dead man going to VP," Archibald chuckled wryly.  
The Doctor clasped Archibald's hand warmly, his blue eyes staring into the old man's with warm and compassion. "Never stop asking questions, Archibald. Never. You could very well be the savior of all just by being a cantankerous old bugger, so I suggest you keep on keeping on!"  
Archibald smiled and raised his nearly empty second pint. "Tae yer health, Doctor!"  
"And also to yours, my friend," The Doctor responded and, after all pleasantries were exchanged, the four exited the pub. Russell stopped the Doctor was he was about to go tearing down another street.  
"Doctor…what you said about him being the 'savior of all' and all…that was just a joke, right?"  
The Doctor sucked on his pipe thoughtfully, "I honestly don't know, Mr. Garamond, but we'll soon find out. Now," he announced with his usual flourish, "as that old…wait, now it's practically new, non-existant, even…" The Doctor sank into musing again but snapped out of it with a mischievous look in his eye, "anyway, as the song says…" he added a twitter of his eyebrows, "Let's Misbehave!"

"So! Mr Garamond!" The Doctor began to shout as he walked into the middle of the street, effectively halting both sides of traffic, "what do you think of all of this 'Victorian Prime' nonsense, hm?! Isn't it just dreadful?!"  
The cars around the Doctor began to honk, creating quite a din for the Doctor to shout over. "Well, Mr. Garamond?!" he persisted.  
"Er…quite, Doctor! Rubbish and nonsense! Absolute rot!" Russell shouted back, not quite sure if it was the right thing to do.  
"I heartily agree, Mr. Garamond! Victorian Prime is such a load of mysterious claptrap that I wish all responsible would just drop dead! In fact, I would kill them all myself if I knew where they were, I would, I would! Kill them all, yes sir! With feats of strength unseen by mere mor–"  
A man in a slim black suit had seemed to appear out of nowhere, but was now standing face to face with the Doctor. His slim moustache quivered as he adjusted his slim black tie and addressed the man who was blocking all of the traffic.  
"Sir," the man began in a nasal voice befitting of his appearance, "I should ask that you refrain from uttering such words, obstructing traffic and disrupting the peace before I am forced to escort you to the nearest constabulary."  
In retaliation, the Doctor placed his hands behind his back and began to pace around the little man, mocking him. "Ohhh, the constabulary, eh? Small potatoes, Tiny, I'm looking for the big whopping potato king! Victorian Prime! VP! Whoever it is who is running this joke of a reality! So, my diminuitive assailant, I suggest you either bring me and mine to VP, or you'll see an act of civil disobedience that would make Ghandi grow hair!"  
"As you wish, sir," the thin man smirked and, in the blink of an eye, all five were suddenly out of the street and in a large, empty room. The Doctor looked marginally impressed.  
"Oh-ho-ho! Teleportation technology! And that was a quick one, a bulk transmission, you didn't spend time breaking us down into individual molecules. Also note the lack of pods, meaning this is a free-form teleportation field…" he thrust his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and began to wander around.  
"And yes, par for the course!" the Doctor, satisfied with his tour of the room, "your standard futuristic bric-a-brac: bleak, austere walls, most likely hidden in plain sight in downtown London and…" he wagged a hand in front of one of the walls, which surprisingly had part of it give way, "automatic doors." He raised his eyebrows at the companions, who responded with polite applause, led by Javis.  
"Enough!" the slim man seethed, his slick-back hair coming out of place, "you will remain quiet and be lead to the Victorian Prime control room, as you so desperately desired," he spat, "and there you will be tried, judged, and sentenced according to your offences!"  
"Wow, now that's efficient! Tried, judged, and sentenced all in the same day, my my!" The Doctor whistled, "well, I'd hate to gum up the cogs any more than I have already. Talk talk talk, all I do, just a prattling chatterbox, me, a right blabber-"  
"This… way…" the thin man seethed, leading them through the automatic door and several others, all with austere hallways and curiously whirring contents behind tall, clean white doors and walls. It was all very disorienting for the companions, but the Doctor managed to follow the little man very well. By the time they had reached a set of monstrous double doors (which were suspiciously non-automatic) the Doctor was step-for-step with their guide, who was now the color of a freshly steamed, and very agitated, lobster.  
The Doctor, taking the man's bull-like snorts as a signal to continue on ahead, thrust the double doors open and headed into the VP control room. It was a massive room, punctuated by two large items: a huge, surging power core in the center of the room, belching out energy to power the futuristic structure, and a rocket like apparatus, mounted horizontally and infused with the bulk of the supply from the aforementioned power core. The wires, conduits, and crackling electricity all around emitted a blue glow, making the entire scene seem otherworldy.  
"Ooooooh…how very sci-fi," the Doctor droned, "this must have cost a fortune!"  
"Several, Doctor," a strong voice crackled through the electricity, "but with our power at hand, money is just a matter of time."  
The very power core itself rotated on its axis, revealing a figure sitting in the very heart of the source, like a great king of some far off forgotten land. The light dyed his skin blue, and the power crackling and exploding behind him made him seem a god, but he appeared unmistakably…human.  
The Doctor applauded slowly, overwrought with sarcasm. "Bravissimo, maestro, bravo! A true entrance for the ages! Why, I haven't seen something so bone-chilling since I met the emperor of an antimatter world! Good show, good show!"  
The man in the chair smirked, punching a few keys on the core's integrated laptop. "Ah yes, the Doctor. That trademark wit, that biting humour, that sense of fashion. The Last of the Time Lords, the savior and eradicator of the Last Great Time War," he leaned back in his chair, "tell me, Doctor, which incarnation are you in now?"  
The Doctor's mood had immediately dropped from playful to dangerously curt and calm. "That's none of your business, sir, and I'd ask you to refrain from any other retellings of my personal history."  
"Oh, struck a nerve, have we?" The man chuckled, "well then, consider it done. After all, you are no threat to us. Merely a speed bump on our way to Earth's greatest refining."  
"Refining? That's what you call it?" The Doctor spat, "speeding up the normal human process to breakneck speed and collecting the benefits? You've been slowly introducing modern concepts and designs over the past forty-six years, in an attempt to create some sort of retro-active super-earth, a world in which cold fusion is possibly in 1955 instead of 19,550! With the world sped up, surely you could lead humans into a new golden age, and harvest the economic and technological boons of such a society?"  
"Your intellectual reputation precedes you, Doctor, you are correct. With the earth's technological prowess sped up by a little more than a century, the future holds unlimited bounds for human potential. Don't you agree?"  
The Doctor's face was one of a disappointed instructor. "Do I agree that humanity's potential is boundless? Of course I do. Do I believe that humans have the propensity to become the greatest being in the universe? Of course I do. Do I also know, Mr…"  
"Aston. General Frederick Aston." the man replied, still smirking.  
The Doctor said the name as if it was poision. "Do I know, Mr… Aston, that humans enhanced propensity also leads to a group of idiotic sods from other worlds who will try at great length to ruin the ordered way of things in the means of extortion thinly veiled as 'progress?' Of course I do."  
"General Frederick Aston, I hereby charge you and all under you with a high felony against the Maintenance of Time Act. As the last remaining Time Lord, it is my duty to shut down this operation and repair the damage done to time as best I can while maintaining the order of the previously undisturbed timestream…"  
"Oh come now, Doctor, why all the pomp and circumstance?" Aston groaned, "why do you adhere to long dead laws of a long dead race? Why do you stop those of us who have the ability to change time for the better from doing so?"  
"YOU CAN'T CHANGE IT!" The Doctor bellowed, his voice reverberating around the chamber, "It's not a question of better or worse, it's a question of right and wrong! You can't simply change the world for your own personal gain, no matter how noble it may be! And besides, what would you want with a rustic little dustball planet like this?"  
Aston smiled and leaned forward. "Pride, Doctor."  
"Pride?! What does pride have to do with it?! The only beings that would benefit in pride from a planet like this would…be…"  
The Doctor trailed off, halting his ranting and pacing to turn and look at Aston. There was a reason he looked so human.  
He was human.  
"You…you!" The Doctor gasped with a mix of admiration and dread. "You are?"  
Aston grinned. "Yes, Doctor…we are."  
"The first what, Doctor?" Russell shouted from the back of the control room, where the companions had been herded by VP guards.  
The Doctor hung his head, crushed and betrayed. "They are the first humans…to travel time. That's what that rocket is, a mean of breaking the grip of time on them. That's why humans have improved so much without a single bit of malevolent harvesting from a hostile overlord. Why would they? They are their own…"  
"Too right, Doctor," Aston leaned back, "and now you see the nobility of our cause."  
"I see NOTHING of the sort!" The Doctor shouted, "I see underdeveloped children attempting to play with their parents tools, and making a mess of the house in the process!"  
He began to pace again. "You are the first, therefore you must have landed in a randomized year, say, 1842, and started your scheme. You've created a paradise, yes, but haven't you ever wondered what speeding up the engine of time will do? It causes a burnout! You'll move higher and higher, stronger and stronger, closer and closer to Armageddon and your own demise! At this rate the human race will be extinct by the year 2000, all because someone wanted to cheat the system and wind the clock. You can't cheat it. You can't change it. And now the clock will turn to dust by your own foolish hands!"  
"Doctor, please…" Aston began.  
"NO!" the Doctor exploded, now nearly hysterical, "no. I could handle a hostile alien race harvesting the human's productivity. I could handle a robot master willing to cleanse and make perfect. I could handle the extermination of all humanity by all sorts of horrible creatures. But this…" his head shook violently, "blind stupidity and disregard from humans themselves to themselves…this is beyond coping. This is just…beyond."  
He sank to his knees on the floor. His companions rushed to his side and Aston began to speak his piece.  
"We have taken those faults into consideration, and every piece of our plan has been evaulated countless times to ensure the best possible outcome. We can do this, Doctor, we can change it…for the better! We can make a world of strong, intelligent, advanced humans. Your love of our species is well documented Doctor, and with our aid, humans could become more than anyone possibly imagined. We could become like your kind once were, we could become new Time Lords!"  
"But that is not the way it is supposed to be," the Doctor said, slowly rising. To call yourself new Time Lords with the perversions you practice is an affront to the Time Lords, Gallifrey, and all of reality as we know it. Your world may be perfect, but it is not real. It is false, it is a fake, and as such it cannot stand."  
The Doctor reached slowly into one of his vest pockets and pulled out his TARDIS key, which was now glowing with white hot energy. He suspended it from its golden chain and waggled it hypnotically in front of Aston.  
"Do you know what this is, Aston? It is the key to my TARDIS, my time ship. Do you know why it is glowing? It is glowing because there has been a wound to time, and the TARDIS knows it. It is trying to summon me, it's scared, and do you know why?"  
An unearthly cry rent the air outside of the control room, causing Aston to stir in his chair for the first time. The guards vacated the control room to investigate the noise. Through all the clamour, the Doctor's face was hard as stone.  
"That's why, Aston. Those are the Reapers, and they are here to sterilze the wound in time. Did you factor that into your calculations, Aston? Did you factor in that your new Time Lords had no old Time Lords to protect them from the horrors of a paradox? Did you factor in that every single one of your advancements will be swallowed up, along with a lot of defenseless people? Were those part of your calculations, Aston?! Were they?!"  
Aston was dumbfounded. For the first time, he moved from his seat at the power core to come face to face with the Doctor. Outside, the shrieks of the Reapers and the reaped were beginning to echo closer and closer.  
"Do you hear that? Aston? The Reapers seek to eliminate new elements, and your elements are the newest. Why, they're so new they're not even supposed to exist!" The Doctor hissed.  
Aston, now sporting a deathly pallor, stumbled backwards into the power core. "What can we do, Doctor?"  
"I'm getting to that," the Doctor replied off-handedly. He walked into an open area of the control room and placed the TARDIS key in mid-air, which amazingly held it until the familiar materialization sound could be heard. The TARDIS appeared within the power core, happy to see its old friend once again. The Doctor then wasted no time shooing his companions into the TARDIS.  
"But Doctor!" Javis protested.  
"There's nothing you can do here, Javis. Punching a Reaper won't do much good, I'm afraid…" he gave her a small wink, "and all of you are in great danger right now. Combined you're more than five billion years in the negative, and that's a banquet for these terrible blokes. Into the TARDIS, now, all of you. Especially you, Javis!"  
Disgruntled but obedient, the companions took shelter within the TARDIS. Russell leaned against the door and pulled a face at Javis.  
"Nice going, young 'un."  
Outside the Reapers were getting closer and closer, and Aston was sinking faster and faster into dementia. The Doctor strode up to him, weeping on the floor as screams of the reaped echoed through the building.  
"Always like you humans. You'll push and push and push until you ruin everything. And yet you always bounce back with such resiliency, and such potential. I suppose that's why I like you. We were never able to bounce back, the Time Lords. We just weren't resilient enough…or maybe we were too resilient to what mattered most?"  
He cut his musing off and looked down at a sobbing Aston. Shaking his head, the Doctor, pulled the general to his feet.  
"Now now, Aston, don't be afraid. We've got time until the Reapers arrive, and until then I need you."  
"F-for what?" Aston stuttered.  
The Doctor rummaged in one of his multitude of pockets and produced what appeared to be a strange looking lightbulb.  
"I've designed this myself, it's called a Time Styptic. Plug it into your time machine's main engine and it should reverse the paradox and seal the wound. I don't have to tell you what will happen to you and yours, but you should consider it a fitting sentence. You will feel no pain, but you will be sucked into the rift you created and blinked out of existence."  
Aston sobbed again, and the Doctor put an arm around him.  
"I'm sorry, Aston, but this is the way it must be."  
"I know," Aston sobbed, "we all knew what could happen…but we never thought we would have to face it. Here," he said, tearing off his own slim black tie and reaching down his shirt, "give these to my daughter, back where I came from. I may blink out of existence, but I'm just a casualty, a test pilot, and my family will go on."  
He handed the Doctor two surprisingly anachronistic dog tags on a chain, then made his way toward his time vehicle. As he climbed into the cockpit, the thundering began to get louder and louder, as did the screaming.  
"They're on this floor, Doctor," Aston swallowed hard, "it's time for you to go, and for me to accept my punishment…to die."  
The Doctor placed a hand on Aston's shoulder for the last time, then headed into the TARDIS. As he moved to open the door, he chanced one last look back, speaking softly to himself.  
"Resilience."  
Once inside, it was business as usual, as the Doctor fired up the TARDIS and dematerialized. Meanwhile, in the now quiet control room, the crackle of electricity was gone, as it had all gone into the rocket's monstrous time engine. A sobbing General Aston plugged the Time Styptic into an infusion port, stood tall, saluted, and was silently sucked into oblivion, along with all of Victorian Prime.  
Hours later, the Doctor sat in an overstuffed armchair in the TARDIS study, examining General Aston's dog tags and looking very despondent. Russell entered bearing a tray with tea and biscuits, the very same fare he and the Doctor had supped on in what seemed so long ago.  
"Doctor?" Russell asked quietly. The Doctor turned lazily and beckoned Russell set the tray on an end table. Knowing something was wrong, Russell sat on the ottoman opposite the Doctor, his long legs making a comical picture on the footstool.  
"I'm not used to allowing so many organisms to die, Mr. Garamond, especially humans," the Doctor said, dangling the dog tags in front of his morose face. "More than any other being I have encountered in almost a thousand years of life, the human race has such potential, such ability, such quality of good and such resilience. As horrible as the events of Victorian Prime were, I know sometime the humans will bounce back, and possibly try it again, and more will die."  
"Don't worry about it, Doctor," Russell said, offering him a cup of tea, "I didn't think Aston was very human anyway, all that blind ambition of duty and pride," he shrugged and took a biscuit, "doesn't sound very human to me, anyway…"  
The Doctor clasped the dog tags tight in his hand, closing his eyes in contemplation.  
"You'd be surprised, Mr. Garamond, you'd be surprised."


End file.
